


Version Of Me

by fwildflowerf



Category: Faking It (TV 2014), The Bold Type
Genre: F/F, F/M, Jane is karma, M/M, Or not, a crossover between faking it and the bold type, and karma is jane, at least the first season, but u might need to have seen the bold type, idk - Freeform, this is like, you don't need to have seen faking it to understand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwildflowerf/pseuds/fwildflowerf
Summary: Jane doesn't usually talk about her teenage years, everyone thinks it's because she just didn't like high school, but the reason goes deeper than that.Unemployed, Jane starts to slowly slip into depression, most days she can't even get out of bed making Sutton and Kat worried.Scarletis under new management and the newest recruit is someone who knows more about Jane Sloan than she lets on.With her past now catching up with her, how will this alter Jane's life? And who are those people from her past and why are they calling her Karma?
Relationships: (past), Ben Chau/Jane Sloan, Jacqueline Carlyle & Jane Sloan, Karma Ashcroft & Amy Raudenfeld, Karma Ashcroft/Liam Booker, Kat Edison/Adena El-Amin, Ryan Decker/Jane Sloan, Shane Harvey/Original Male Character(s), Sutton Brady & Kat Edison & Jane Sloan, Sutton Brady/Richard Hunter
Kudos: 5





	Version Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> A few things you need to know, wether you watched both shows or not. 
> 
> Shane married one of Jane's brothers and he lost contact with Amy and everyone else - besides Karma. 
> 
> Everything that happened in Faking It still happened but without Karma's mother (because in The Bold Type she died of cancer and I wanted to keep it that way) and with Karma/Jane having 3 brothers.

Sutton walks past her, dressed in an overly fashionable dress that Jane is sure she has seen in a magazine laying somewhere around their fairly small apartment, blonde hair curled to perfection and strategically combed in a half up half down hairstyle that suits her to no end. Jane can feel her friends’ blue eyes on her, only motivating her to keep her own green ones hidden behind her eyelids, pretending to sleep, breath forcefully leveled, even as her heart beats too fast.

She only opens her eyes when she hears the unmistakable sound of the lock clinking into place and she lets out a sigh of relief, relishing in the emptiness of her home, too happy to be alone. Laying on the couch she only now realizes how sore her body is, the limited space of the sofa having bent her body in an uncomfortable way the whole night, yet she doesn’t make a move to get up. It is kind of sad, sitting like that, sprawled in the leaving room, eyes transfixed on the ceiling, body exhausted but mind feeling like it’s going to explode.

Everything is too much and not enough.

The tiny logical voice in her head, that has been left to fend for itself, is telling Jane that she should get up and do something, anything. It goes ignored, of course, like everything else in her life because nothing seems to matter anymore and even the slightest of tasks demands energy that she just doesn’t have to spare.

Nights are spent unable to sleep, just staring at the wall until the alarm of the small digital clock resting gingerly on her nightstand inevitably goes off, and if she does manage to slip into unconsciousness, she wakes up easily. Her dreams are more nightmares than actual dreams and all of them center about not being good enough and letting everyone down, all she can see when she closes her eyes is the disappointment in her family and friends’ eyes as they realize all their belief in her was for nothing.

Scrawled on the opened notebook, hiding under her left arm, trapped between her and the backrest of the couch, is written in almost calligraphic writing _failure._

She vaguely remembers writing that in a drunken haze and only now realizing how bad it has gotten, to the point where self-deprecating becomes more like self-bullying which unavoidably sends her into another one of her “episodes”, as she has come to address them. The reality of the situation is slowly dawning on her at an alarming rate, and she feels her heart sink into her stomach because there has only been two other times when she has felt like this – none of which she is willing to revive.

Moving her hands through the mess of black curls on her head she lets out a frustrated sigh that sounds more like a sob than anything else. It’s a horrible sensation, that makes her want to scratch at her skin as if that would somehow help, to know you’re drowning and not swim to the surface.

One of the only other two times she has ever felt like this before, has been in kindergarten, and being _this_ sad when you are five years old was really screwed up, even for her. She doesn’t really have anything to be unhappy about, she thinks, as a wave of nausea hits her, and she closes her eyes tight hoping it would pass on its own because for whatever reason moving from this couch feels like too much work. And it scares her, because all she’s ever known is work.

It is also probably the reason for her “funk” , she strongly refuses to use the word _depression_ because she isn’t, really – the bottle of antidepressants she hides in her room beg to disagree. She can’t remember when she’d last taken one of the little pills prescribed, she thinks it must have been at least two weeks ago.

Initially she only stopped taking them because she finally felt happy, actually happy, not drug infused happy, she had great friends, that were really more like the sisters she’d always wished her brothers were, a great job and a loving, supporting family – and then she quit, and she was fired, and things became too much for her to worry about missing one or two pills (it’s not like she can afford them anymore, anyways) and then she spiraled and spiraled and –

The phone buzzes gently next to her, playing a soft tune that annoys her more than she’d allow herself to admit, the screen flashes bright with the caller ID.

_Kat_

She doesn’t pick up, lets it ring and buzz besides her, the soft vibrations that it emits probing her to just ignore it further, she’ll stop calling sooner or later when she realizes Jane isn’t actually going to pick up.

She just hopes it’s sooner rather than later.

As if reading her mind, the phone stops ringing and Jane’s eyes avert to it for a small second only to be met with a black screen, she only now remembers she hadn’t charged it last night. _Good,_ she thinks, _at least now I’ll have a few hours alone._

She loves her friends, so much that it scares her sometimes, but they are a lot, not in a bad way, no, Jane herself knows she can be a handful at times with her never ending mommy issues and boy drama, but sometimes she needs to be alone in a not lonely way that they just don’t seem to understand. She doesn’t blame them – they are both only children.

A thought that maybe, she should call one of her brothers, filters through her mind only to be disregarded as soon as it came. They have their own lives; they shouldn’t have to deal with their mentally unstable little sister.

The ding of a notification echoes through the otherwise silent apartment and Jane furrows her brows in confusion only to spot the laptop laying unbothered on the small table. She slowly gets up in a sitting position, her back relishing in the lack of tension, and scans the message quickly.

_Hi, it’s Taylor._

It reads, and she wonders why Taylor would be writing her, she is pretty sure she’s only had a handful of conversations with her, most of which consisted of meaningless pleasantries or asking about Suttons’ whereabouts.

_They are worried about you._

Guilt floods her body making her stomach churn uncomfortably, she should have known they wouldn’t just forget about her, they are too good of friends for that. She bites her lip as she types out a response.

_I am fine, really, they shouldn’t be worrying. Please make sure they don’t leave work today for me, it’s not worth it, I’m not worth it._

Only after she presses send it dawns on her what she wrote, but it’s too late as another email pops up on her display.

_Jane, I admit I don’t really know you, but the way they are acting makes me seriously doubt the fact that you aren’t worth it. Sutton has been yelled at by Oliver five times already for badly accessorizing, something even I know doesn’t happen. And Kat has twitted the same thing at least twice – she didn’t even realize she put a wrong hashtag._

Her eyes scan the words, each one of them sending a knife of shame straight into her heart, making it ache painfully with the knowledge that she is the reason her two best girls aren’t giving their best. She’s a terrible friend (high school memories filter through her mind, blonde hair, innocent blue eyes and she thinks she might have always been), she can’t even be sad without hurting someone.

(And she and Kat had that terrible fight, but the girl still cares for Jane so much that it interferes with her job.)

She closes the laptop with a soft thud, determined to not open it again, and flops back on to the couch, going back to staring into nothingness, forcing her mind blank.

* * *

“I am worried about her; she hasn’t gotten off of that damn couch for three days now.” Sutton’s voice fills the otherwise silent closet room, not even the newest designs can get her to cheer her up, the worry she feels for her tiny friend who hasn’t been herself in a long time now.

Kat hums in agreement, admittedly less concerned than she actually feels, the fight still fairly recent and she reasons she has the right to be mad at the girl for a little more time (save for that one phone call that went unanswered), only to prove her point. But Jane is _Jane_ , she wouldn’t hurt a fly if she could help it and she always sees the good in things and hearing from Sutton how she hasn’t even moved from the couch, naturally makes her uneasy.

Sutton shoots her friend a nasty look, she understands holding a grudge, but not when it comes to Jane’s health or well-being, any petty rivalry can very well wait until they figure out what put the brunette in such a horrible state.

“Kat, I am serious. Something is _really_ wrong with Jane.”

Something in her tone must have shown just how desperate she was because Kat finally looked up from where she was sitting, phone in hand scrolling through twitter, and locked eyes with the blonde. “I know,” she says so soft and caring that it makes it hard to believe she hated Jane’s guts two seconds ago “but what can we do?”

They shared an unhelpful look, because if they knew Jane (which they did, probably better than they knew themselves) she would not under any circumstances actually open up and talk about emotions. She liked to be in control, neither of them understood her almost compulsory need for it, but if Kat was to guess, and damn her parent’s job, she would say it has something to do with childhood trauma. 

A knock brings them back from their respective thoughts, both pair of eyes turn to see who the intruder is.

Taylor.

Sharing a confused look, Sutton is the first to react, pushing herself away from the drawer of accessorizes, only now remembering what she was doing here in the first place, and goes to walk out of the room, but Taylor’s hand grabs her wrist before she can leave, softly pulling her back. Kat watches this with curios eyes.

She hands Sutton a purple covered phone.

“I think you need to go check on her.” She says before exiting just as abruptly as she appeared, leaving in her wake the two confused girls.

“What’s that?” Kat asks, getting up from the soft cushions on the floor, to come and examine the small device, her eyes skimming the screen.

“Are those?” her question goes unfinished, but Sutton knows.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

* * *

Red Louboutin’s can be heard clicking through the otherwise silent room, the shoes almost as determined as their owner to get to the front of the room, pointedly ignoring everyone’s concerned look the blonde woman kept walking. She stopped once she reached her spot, in front of the table, making sure all the attention was solely on her and nothing else. Her face looked stoic in its place, a façade well practiced, yet her eyes betrayed her, the underlying worry in them sending a wave of anxiety throughout the room.

“We are being sued.” She said, voice unwavering, never deceiving “More specifically I am being sued.” There was a pause, a moment for the uninformed to take the information in, before she could continue.

Kat and Sutton watched attentively, from the other side of the long table, waiting for Jaqueline to continue and explain why this was such a big deal, they have been sued before, numerous times, but it never required a meeting with all of the staff, usually this type of things would be handled quietly in private, Kat would know. Her eyes danced from person to person, before they landed on a tall blonde sitting in the corner, arms crossed over her chest as she watched them. The young woman looked around her and Sutton’s age, dressed in a dark green suit, that shouldn’t have looked that good on her, blonde hair curled in delicate curls that flowed softly on her back, she was beautiful.

She clearly looked out of place, and yet something about her undeniably screamed _Scarlet._ Her train of thoughts was interrupted as her attention was drawn back to her boss.

“This is why I’ve decided to temporarily step down – ”

The older woman is cut off by startled gasps and protests, Kat herself looked taken aback, all of this only strengthening her theory that this was something bigger. She watched them all and then it clicked, the blonde woman must be the replacement.

Jaqueline’s hand rose up in the air and as if rehearsed everyone stopped talking, silence filling the space.

“Please give a warm welcome to your new boss.”

Jaqueline beckoned the mysterious woman to step forward. The blonde caught kat’s eye as she moved to go stand next to the older woman, winking at the brown skinned girl, as if she knew she spotted her before any of them did.

She smirked slightly, before finally averting her eyes to watch over everyone.

“Hello. I am Amy Raudenfeld.”

(end of chapter 1)


End file.
